


Blue Hydrangeas

by twinkcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Artist Dean Winchester, Castiel and Drug Use, Confused Dean, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean in Panties, Demiromantic Sam Winchester, Gay Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Homosexuality, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Photographer Castiel, Polysexual Sam Winchester, Romance, Sexual Content, Switching, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:30:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3376511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkcas/pseuds/twinkcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world full of change and growth, Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester cling to each other in hope of finding clarity. Together, they learn more about themselves than they ever deemed possible alone. Based in San Francisco, California, the two art students fall in love in a tale about truth and self discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly background information about Castiel - the next chapter will involve Dean.  
>  **Tags are updated to fit for future chapters.**  
>  Kudos and constructive criticism are both GREATLY welcomed. I'm new at this, haha.  
> Thank you for reading! x

Castiel Novak was only ten years old when his parents bought him his very own Canon Powershot A520 for Christmas. It was all he had asked for, and with having five siblings, it was hard to get expensive gifts, even for Christmas. 

It was shiny, easy to use, and had his name written in thick black lines on the side. He filled up the roll over and over, thousands of photos. Every time his memory was full, he’d race to the nearby drug store with the money he’d saved. It was better than Christmas, feeling the newly printed photographs under his fingertips. It was like a sudden rush, a jolt of excitement up his spine, a burst of joy in his mind. It was a feeling he still could barely explain. Every time Castiel printed them all out and covered his room with them, it was as if he was Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel. Miniature murals, collections of memories and moments of times, ones he’d never forget as long as he had those pictures.

His love for the camera and photography only grew as he got older. When he was sixteen, Michael, his older brother by about five years, bought him a gift he’d never forget. It was a professional camera, a Nikon. A Nikon P7000, brand new, never touched. He could have wept right then, fallen to his knees and thanked God.

However, things were only peaceful in the Novak family for so long.

Castiel remembered the day clearly. It was March fifth, 2012. He was watching some cartoon show with Anna, Gabriel on the couch beside him with a lollipop hanging from his lips. A loud ring came from the kitchen, and his mom came running down with a laundry basket pinned between her hand and hip.

Before the three of them knew what was happening, a loud sob broke out and his mother went crashing to the ground, clutching the telephone to her chest.

There’d been an unidentified body in the morgue, said they found him in some junkie motel. Overdosed on heroin, choked to death on his on vomit.

It was Lucifer. They had not seen him in a few years, not after the big fight with their father. He was on some type of drugs then, something that made him angry and irritable. He left that night and never came back. 

The Novak family seemed to derail after that. Constant fighting, screaming, the family was torn apart. His mother resulted to drinking, Gabriel went to smoking pot, and his father buried himself in his work.

Castiel was left alone to fend for himself in the cruel world of reality. Especially when he came to terms with his sexuality and romantic orientation. He found out people weren't so accepting of him.

He was gay. He got bullied, people hated him for nothing, he was constantly judged and harassed, and his life was always at risk. 

His family, besides Gabriel and Anna, stopped talking to him, his friends abandoned him, and he was alone. 

What only made things worse, is that Castiel found that… he wasn’t romantically attracted to anyone. He tried relationships, he tried to love his partners, he had sex, he did and tried everything, but there was never quite that click. The young boy found out later that the term was aromantic. However, that didn’t stop his speculations that something was deeply wrong with him.

So when he was accepted into San Francisco’s Art Institute right out of high school. Castiel packed his bags, said goodbye to his unaccepting and broken family, and got a one-way ticket from Troy, New York, all the way to San Francisco, California. It was the Sunshine state, the place dreams came true, where people explored, had adventures, and fell in love.

He’d only been living in California for a short time, but he was head over heels for San Francisco nearly instantly. He constantly roamed the streets of the city. The empty roads of the business districts on the weekends, to the ever crowded China and Japan Town, all the way to the urban streets of the young adults. 

However, the dorms at the Art Institute were more expensive than what Castiel could afford, so the New Yorker collected all his savings and invested in an art studio in near the Castro; a section of the city that was one of the first gay neighbors in the US. It was somewhere Castiel felt comfortable, at home, where he wasn’t judged. Unlike his home back in New York. 

His studio was shitty, even he could admit that, but it was home. No air conditioning, no heater, just a shared bathroom at the end of the hall (thankfully, only him and a lesbian woman named Charlie lived on this floor), and a fridge. However, it did have a nice view of the happy and bright neighborhood. He could fix it up, he would make it suit his tastes, and he could make it truly his home. Just with time.

He spent the night on the hard floor of his studio, a blanket covering his weak and aching body, with only three hundred dollars and a camera to his name. 

It might have been the fog that rolled in with the morning tides.

It might have been the way the sun rose above the Californian mountains parallel to the bay, and shone on the ocean waters.

It even could’ve easily been the salty reminisce that always lingered in one’s lungs, even hours after being out in the open.

Whatever it was, Castiel was absolutely taken by the City by the Bay. It was so diverse, a giant mixing pot for people of all races, sexualities, cultures, and lifestyles. It wasn’t a polar opposite of New York, but the differences were outstanding. 

The ground made his back hurt, and it became evident as the sun shone in his eyes that goddamn, he needed to get a bed today. It only took a scorching shower and a few yoga poses to get his lower back into shape, ready to face the day.

Luckily, his photo teacher from New York knew some people in the city, so with a few strings pulled, Castiel already had an interview in place for today. It was for a small town magazine about local, young artists in San Francisco, but it was a job. One Castiel desperately needed, so he dressed in a grey shirt that sported the band, “The Doors”, matched with simple black jeans, and an old pair of black Doc Martens he’d had since he was a junior in high school. They were scuffed, creased, and beaten, but Castiel adored them.

His back ached as he shaved away his shadow of stubble on his jawline; he wasn’t always the best shave. He missed spots, and never really got everything all the way. It was a skill he had yet to master, but he didn’t mind much. He’d been told it feels good when you’re giving a blowjob, anyways.

Prepared to fight the day, Castiel exited his home and slung his messenger over his shoulder, a forced smile on his face. Cas passed by Charlie on the way; she was kissing a brown haired lady goodbye, blush coating both of their cheeks.

Castiel often wondered what love like that felt like. Where you ached until you saw each other again, where you thought about the other constantly, and you were utterly, undoubtedly in love.

Forcing himself outside, the young photographer swung open the door, Charlie’s apparent girlfriend walked out with a thank you. The weather outside was mild, the constant ocean wind stinging his face as he walked down the streets, eyes glazing over the details of the coffee shops and stores, all the new people that smiled at him as they strode past. People weren’t this friendly back in New York.

Pride flags were plastered everywhere, even a transgender pride flag! Everything about this place, it was so fresh, so new, and Castiel felt like this was what heaven was truly like.

As he hurried through the city, he passed by a large building, presumably another café, where a large, extravagant mural was painted. Usually, these things didn’t catch his eye, but this one… 

It displayed a visual timeline of San Francisco. All the way from the Gold Rush, to the AIDS marches in the 1980’s, all the way to the LGBT+ movements that were currently taking place. It wasn’t finished yet, as it was an ongoing project. One that developed with the city - that moved with the people.

The man kept on walking, forcing his eyes away from the mural as he skipped down the sidewalks. It wasn’t far, only a few blocks, and Castiel was standing before the doors of his hopefully future job.

 

“Castiel Novak.” He stated as he was sat down in a chair before a woman who introduced herself as Pamela Barnes. She had curly brown locks and a pretty face, but she also looked as if she could snap your head off in a second. 

“And you’re from New York? Huh? Why come here?” She flipped through his resume more than a few times, going through his portfolio after that. She looked impressed, but the young man was still nervous to say the least. He needed this job, he was going to go broke by the end of the week. 

“Needed to get away from people, and I think California understands the arts better.” Cas admitted as he eyed the necklace she was wearing, only for his eyes to dart up she noticed. 

“You’d be surprised, boy.” Going through his portfolio of photographs he’d taken recently, including portraits of a project he’d done about the diversity of people in the Big Apple. “Alright.” She said loudly, standing from her chair as he pushed the papers back toward him. “You’re in.” Pamela walked around her desk, grabbing a tan folder off a nearby shelf, only to hand it to him. 

“Dean Winchester, artist from Kansas. He’s workin’ on a mural in the Castro. You mighta seen it.” She sighed while looking back up Castiel, her hair flipping back. “Take some pictures of him and the mural, we’ll be using for next month’s magazine. So, be done by the end of the week?” Someone called her name before Castiel could confirm, so off Pamela went.

Damn. He’d just got a job and a project. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad, after all.


	2. The Truth is Out There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When blue eyes meet green, worlds collide like the sky meets the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a cliffhanger, but it'll have to do for now.   
> As always, constructive criticism, kudos, comments, and bookmarks are greatly appreciated! xoxo

It'd be a few days since Castiel had gotten his new project from his new job, and since then, he'd been working on getting his life situated. 

He'd gotten ahold of an old bed, and some plain white sheets for a makeshift sleeping arrangement for the time being. It was a little hard, and the springs were old, but Cas could handle it for now. 

The young man had found a local tea shop, and they made the best peppermint blend. It was smooth, rich, and soothed his sore throat. He wasn't quite gotten accustomed to the saltiness in the air. 

In hopes of making his cold studio more comfortable for him, he plastered photos all over a wall parallel to the door. It was like back at home. A warm, joyful feeling bubbled up in his chest. 

However, as he was curled up on his bed with a warm cup of tea beside him, he knew he had to start working on his project. Cas was given the number of the man, so that meant he'd have to call or text. 

Which was more professional? He loathed talking to strangers on the phone - he refused to make his own doctors’ appointments for years. 

How bad could he be? He was probably young, so that didn't make him any better than Castiel. So, the photographer swallowed his fear and dialed the seven digit number. 

The dial tone was empty, cold - it rang painstaking slow. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Three. 

It was disrupted midway through, the tone on the other end a mild static. 

Was he supposed to talk? Or wait? Why was he so goddamn nervous, anyways?

"Hello?" The man on the other end grumbled out, sleepiness thick in his voice. It was gravelly, but somehow satisfyingly smooth. 

"Hey, uh -" Shit, why had he not thought this through? "I'm Castiel, from, um, Neoteric Pages? It's the magazine -" He was abruptly interrupted by the other, as a loud yawn came from the other line. 

"Yeah - Yeah. Is this about the mural or somethin'?" He man asked, and Castiel sat up on his rickety old bed, hearing it creak under his movements. 

"The one in the Castro, yes. I was wondering if we could interview you for next month’s edition." He remembered why he hated calling so much now - this was so fucking awkward.

"When did you wanna meet?"

"Tomorrow, at the earliest." The man on the other line gave a noise of agreement, so Castiel coughed before he spoke up again. "We can meet at the cafe near the mural, the one right across the street?"

"Sure, their doughnuts are the best, man." Dean confirmed before giving another yawn. Castiel wondered why he'd been sleeping, it was only six at night, anyways. 

"Rad - so, around noon tomorrow?" 

"Yeah, see you later." Castiel couldn't help but smile, nodding even though the other couldn't see him anyways. He gave a quick goodbye and the line went dead. 

That went… Better than expected. At least he hadn't denied the interview. The man didn’t seem rude either, at least, he didn’t seem stuck up or snobby. Loads of artists were like that back in New York.

Castiel grinned at his success and tossed his phone to the side, clicking play on his laptop, The X-Files playing on the screen. 

Admittedly, Cas was a huge nerd. It was bad. He played Pokémon, his favorite show was X-Files (he owned all the seasons on DVD), and he knew every word of Star Wars by heart. He went to it to seek comfort, to look for warmth that his family rarely provided. Luckily, he found friends, he found the love he was missing in his life, and then he moved away from all of them. 

Settling in for bed, his thoughts lingered on his friends back in New York. He remembered hugging each of them goodbye, with an apology, but they all understood why he had to do it. Home was toxic for him, and all of them supported him in his choices to leave.

Before he knew it, Cas was drifting off, sleeping cradling him, covering him in her warmth and familiar comfort. 

 

It was 11:45, and Castiel was leaning against the mural with a cigarette between his fingers. As the smoke from the cigarette drifted up, coastal rain poured around him. Sure, the habit was bad for his lungs, but it was the only stable thing he ever had in his life – besides photography. It was nostalgic. Smoking brought back memories of being alone in the forest, or taking photos in the Big Apple, or being with his past strings of lovers. It was a luxury that soothed him from the inside out.

Cas was focused on the sound of the rain and the busy streets around him, sapphire eyes studying the stormy skies above, taking in everything he could. He was so in tune with everything around him, he hadn’t even noticed a man walk up beside him.

Castiel was in the middle of sucking in a toxic puff of his cigarette when the man spoke up, and he recognized the sound of his voice instantly. 

“You that Novak dude?” He said, lips pursed and eyes narrowed slightly.

Eyes raking over his body, Castiel did a quick observation of the man. Dean Winchester had deep, intense green eyes, surrounded by a sea of freckles, with a sandy blonde crop of hair atop his head. The artist was wearing a plain black shirt and a military style jacket. Eyes flickering down to his legs, Castiel noticed he was bow legged. Interesting. 

“Yep, that’s me. Castiel.” Pushing himself off the cold wall, he took in one last drag of his cigarette before walking to a trash, smudging it out in the ashtray before returning to the other. “Dean, right?” He got a small nod of the head, and a smirk broke out on Castiel’s lips. “Thought I could just photograph you today, since it’s raining. We can do the mural later if it stops, or another day.” The other man nodded in agreement, the two beginning to walk back to Castiel’s studio for pictures.

“You like The X-Files?” Dean suddenly asked, referring to the shirt Castiel was wearing. It had the famous poster from the show, stating the words “I want to believe”. The photographer cleared his throat, turning back towards the other so he could face him a better.

“Actually yeah. One of my favorite shows. Are you a fan?” Castiel looked at his face, focusing on his perfect, plump lips. They were undoubtedly cock sucking lips, and Cas couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel against his own. Dean was attractive after all, there wasn’t any denying that.

“Dude, me and my brother used to watch that show growing up. It was like my childhood. Mulder was like, my hero.” He let out a laugh that was contagious, a sickly sweet smile spreading across Castiel’s lips.

“He was my childhood crush - at least in the first season anyways.” Dean looked up at him after that, a grin still on his perfect lips. Jesus, this guy was beyond attractive, he was hot. The first guy he meets in San Francisco and he’s some model type dude, one Castiel wouldn’t mind laying into someday. 

“Crush?” Dean spoke up after him, his feet stepping through the puddles of collecting rain water. He didn’t seem disgusted or angry, which was a far contrast from life back at home. Dean just seemed… curious. 

“Uh, yeah.” Castiel mumbled as his eyes returned back to Dean’s, and he shrugged it off. “I like guys, I think I always have. I mean, I was like… Eight when I started watching it. It was already off air by then, but still.”

“Cool.” He returned Castiel’s gaze after that, chuckling still. “My dad was really into it, so I guess I kinda grew up around that supernatural kind of stuff.” As the two neared Castiel’s apartment building, Cas opened up the door for him, showing him the way to the elevator with a sigh.

“My mom always chastised me for it, said it wasn’t “holy”. Little did she know her son would turn out gay.” The two shared a laugh, and the elevator pulled them up several floors before reaching his.

“So, how long have you been painting?” Castiel asked, breaking the silence as he led the other into his studio, his cameras already all set up for the pictures. It was just a small article, so only a few would be needed.

“About…” He turned his head to the side in thought, “Since I was around ten or eleven. That’s when I started drawing, painting I was fourteen.” Dean watched Castiel with focused eyes as he set up the cameras, working with them. The photographer swung open the curtains, bright light from the storm outside flooding inside. He felt Dean’s eyes on him, burning into his back as he fixed the white sheet, using it as a backdrop. 

“Ready?” Cas asked in a solid voice, eyes faltering a bit as he lost himself in those green eyes again – why did that keep happening?

The man moved before the simple backdrop, the pale light from outside reflecting off his complex patterns of freckles and bright eyes, before confirming. 

“Ready.”


End file.
